


Punch Drunk

by provocative_envy



Series: Chaos Theory [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Happy Ending, Humor, POV Third Person Limited, Romance, Text Messages, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-28
Updated: 2015-02-28
Packaged: 2018-03-15 17:59:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3456569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/provocative_envy/pseuds/provocative_envy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>On her twelfth day, she’s standing next to a bank of stainless steel wire bird cages and clasping a shrink-wrapped package of pine wood shavings to her chest and legitimately <b>praying for strength</b> when Harry pauses in the doorway for no readily apparent reason other than to scowl disapprovingly in her general direction and that just—</i>
</p><p>
  <i>No.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>That’s fucking it.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Punch Drunk

* * *

 

It all starts at Daphne Greengrass’s annual Fourth of July party.

Sort of.

Well—

That’s when the cops come, at least.

 

* * *

 

(01:23 am) **_daphhhhh wtf_**

(01:23 am) **_im hiding with ur weird neighbor in his basement and it smells like burritos and clearasil_**

(01:24 am) **_can i come out yet_**

(01:26 am) _dunno_

(01:26 am) _but brb_

(01:26 am) _draco’s helping me hide the keg in the pool_

(01:26 am) **_so the cops are gone?????_**

(01:28 am) **_also what that doesn’t make any sense_**

(01:30 am) _maybe_

(01:31 am) **_im just gonna come back_**

(01:31 am) **_hes trying to get me to watch lord of the rings with him and i think it’s the one where the trees talk_**

(01:32 am) _idk what ur talking about but draco made a face so that sucks??_

(01:32 am) _then again that might just be him pining_

(01:32 am) _for that girl_

(01:32 am) _who didnt show tonite_

(01:32 am) _the one hes been “dating” since christmas_

(01:32 am) _bitch_

(01:32 am) _OH_

(01:32 am) _btw_

(01:32 am) _vince and greg say they saw g i jane in a squad car down the block or smthng so be careful_

(01:32 am) **_g i jane??_**

(01:32 am) **_vince and greg are high_**

(01:32 am) _doesnt mean theyre wrong_

(01:37 am) **_uh yeah it does but whatever im on my way i’ll see you all in a min_**

 

* * *

 

Pansy doesn’t technically get arrested.

She feels like it’s important to make that distinction.

There are handcuffs—which are _spectacularly_ uncomfortable, seriously, she’s barely even tempted to make sex jokes about them to the dour, middle-aged female officer who drives her home—and there is a patronizing never-ending speech about the legal consequences of underage drinking and how awful premature liver disease is and it’s all boring enough that it probably came straight off the back of a pamphlet from the guidance counselor’s office at the high school but Pansy stops listening after the fourth red light they get stuck at so she can’t really be sure.

Besides, the roof of her mouth still tastes like cheap vodka because who even knew that it came in plastic bottles and her dad’s stern don’t-fuck-with-me face is lit up and flashing repeatedly across the screen of her phone—and she sometimes wonders if he’d used his personal Pentagon geek squad to hack her photo gallery so she’d _have_ to use the super-scary super-soldier picture of him as his contact icon—but she thinks, with a sinking swaying lurch deep deep in her gut, that this might just be the last straw for her.

She’s totally right.

 

* * *

 

(02:42 am) **_my dad’s about to lock my phone and keys in the bottom drawer of the desk of doom so don’t send me anything stupid_**

(02:42 am) **_like_**

(02:43 am) **_dnt talk about blaises dick or that dream i had in spanish last week about staff sergeant pucey okay_**

(02:43 am) **_especially the dream_**

(02:43 am) **_fuck_**

(02:43 am) **_fkjllllllllllllllllllllll_**

(02:47 am) _k_

(02:47 am) _draco and blaise and theo say theyre sorry u got caught btw_

(02:47 am) _and that marcus still thinks ur super hot_

(02:48 am) _pans?_

(02:49 am) _oh r u already gone_

(02:49 am) _shit_

(02:50 am) _hi mr parkinson_

(02:52 am) **_Hello, Daphne._**

 

* * *

 

“ _Community service_?” she bleats, defensively clutching the bottle of neon pink nail polish she’d swiped from the salon after her last mani/pedi; she’s wearing a thumb ring, an admittedly tacky throwback to the early nineties that never fails to make her dad feel gruff and awkward and old. “You can’t—I’m not a _delinquent_ , daddy, you can’t just—”

“I _can_ , sweet pea, and I _am_ ,” he interrupts with a tired, long-suffering sigh. He pinches the bridge of his nose and glances uneasily around her bedroom. She’d strategically left a half-full box of tampons on top of her dresser earlier to remind him of her hormones and her mood swings and her relative feminine frailty but that doesn’t seem to be working this time. “You…since your mother…I’m afraid I might have been too lenient with you. Uninvolved. Distant. I intend to rectify that.”

An unpleasant, unfamiliar emotion—guilt, maybe? Is that a thing?—churns like butter in the pit of her empty stomach. She frowns and then squares her shoulders and promptly tells herself to get the fuck over it because her life is not a Nicholas Sparks novel and she does not have heart-to-heart talks with her dad, like, _ever_ , and so she tosses her hair with a well-practiced flick of her chin and almost immediately has to suppress a wince when she remembers that she’s really fucking hungover and goddamn it that fucking _hurts_.

“By putting me in one of those—those _horrible_ polyester jumpsuits on the side of the freeway? Do you even know how sensitive my skin is?”

Her dad narrows his eyes—flinty slate blue, she thinks with a pang, just like hers—and levels her with his most fearsome unimpressed stare. “You’re going to volunteer at the county animal shelter, Pansy,” he finally says in the tone that he usually reserves for people being court martialed. “I’ll even be driving you. No arguing. No faking sick. You need to learn some discipline.”

She glowers at the neon pink nail polish in her hand.

She ends up painting her toenails a remarkably depressing shade of dark purple.

 

* * *

 

(07:14 pm) **_daph do cute boys go to animal shelters_**

(07:14 pm) **_to like play with puppies_**

(07:14 pm) **_and pick up girls_**

(07:14 pm) **_like me for instance_**

(07:14 pm) **_does that happen outside of hugh grant movies_**

(07:14 pm) **_it doesn’t right_**

(07:50 pm) _i don’t think its hugh grant ur thinking of_

(07:51 pm) _i think u mean matthew mcconaughey_

(07:51 pm) _the guy who was in like all those kate hudson movies_

(07:52 pm) _which_

(07:52 pm) _so weird right_

(07:55 pm) **_idk i think it might be weirder that you know how to spell his name_**

(07:59 pm) **_thouhgts on doing a smoky eye tomorrow_**

(08:06 pm) **_???_**

(08:06 pm) **_too much???_**

(08:10 pm) _“too much”_

(08:10 pm) _lol_

(08:10 pm) _srsly pans_

(08:11 pm) _thats blasphemy_

 

* * *

 

On her first day, she wears a distressed designer denim mini skirt, a turquoise paisley handkerchief top, and a highly impractical pair of cork wedge espadrilles. She spends forty minutes on her makeup and texts Daphne twice to consult on the relative wisdom of using liquid eye liner in the middle of a heat wave.

It doesn’t end up mattering.

By eleven, an overly enthusiastic Dachshund has slobbered all over her face and smeared clumps of blue-black mascara across the curve her cheek while fucking _dissolving_ two full layers of carefully blended peach-pink bronzer—and an incontinent elderly Calico has pissed on her shirt. The college student in charge of the volunteer program—a tiny girl in mom jeans and slip-on Vans named Hermione—gives Pansy a stilted, sympathetic smile and then loans her an ill-fitting cotton t-shirt that’s so fucking big it falls right past the hem of her skirt and droops sadly down the slope of one shoulder.

She wants to _cry_.

She doesn’t, though, because the other volunteers—the Weasleys, an annoyingly exuberant family of tall freckled redheads in matching crocheted sweaters; and Millicent, a heavyset girl with unfortunate eyebrows who may or may not have a bizarre affinity for cats—are obviously expecting her to.

Pansy is a lot of things, but predictable isn’t one of them.

Usually.

Predictable _usually_ isn’t one of them.

 

* * *

 

(9:00 pm) **_remember that goldfish i had in eighth grade_**

(9:00 pm) **_the fat one_**

(9:00 pm) **_we named him neville_**

(9:02 pm) _lolllllllll_

(9:02 pm) _yeah_

(9:02 pm) _poor neville_

(9:03 pm) **_remember how neville died_**

(9:04 pm) _um_

(9:04 pm) _old age? pirahnas?_

(9:04 pm) **_no_**

(9:04 pm) **_i put him on a diet with me_**

(9:04 pm) **_for solidarity_**

(9:05 pm) **_which i guess ur not supposed to do with fish or something_**

(9:05 pm) **_idk_**

(9:05 pm) **_its not really the point_**

(9:05 pm) **_the point_**

(9:05 pm) _oh yeah u were trying to fit into that dress ur mom had_

(9:09 pm) _blaise says hi btw_

(9:09 pm) _theo is here too_

(9:09 pm) _we’re playing celebrity clue_

(9:10 pm) **_right_**

(9:11 pm) **_hi_**

(9:12 pm) **_anyway_**

(9:12 pm) **_im really bad with animals_**

(9:12 pm) **_that’s the point_**

 

* * *

 

On her second day, she slams the passenger door of her dad’s regulation black government-issued SUV and promptly trips over the curb in the yellow-striped loading/unloading zone.

“Whoa, you okay?” a dark-haired boy calls out, jogging to her side from where he’s just parked his motorcycle. He has bright green eyes and an awesome shoulder-to-hip ratio and really nice, strong-looking arms but his jeans are rumpled and baggy and his hipster glasses are thick-rimmed and round and taped together with what she suspects is that gross novelty moustache-print duct tape she’s seen at the drug store and, just, no. Hermione can have him.

“Yeah,” Pansy replies, taking his hand with a wince; she has gravel embedded into the fragile skin of her palms. “I’m just, you know, fighting with my dad right now, so…I was maybe paying more attention to making a fabulous dramatic exit than I was to, like, gravity. Or whatever.”

He smiles at her, sort of, but it’s forced and tight and honestly a little uncomfortable. She lets him help her up, deliberately arching her back to smooth out the creases on the bottom of her sherbet-colored linen shorts, and wonders what the fuck his deal is when he only glances at her bare legs for a few cursory, lingering seconds.

“Right,” he says dryly, rubbing at his neck and hastily stepping away. “Gravity. Or… _whatever_.”

She hikes up an eyebrow and almost sneers, then, because oh. _Oh._ Of course. He’s one of _those_ guys. The guys who assume that she’s vapid and shallow and stupid because she would rather watch _Project Runway_ reruns than pretend to like the _Daily Show_ —the guys who assume they’re too good for her because she doesn’t wear flannel or corduroy or listen to shitty indie bands or blog about feminism or cats or Nickelodeon or, like, _French politics_ —the guys who assume that she’s _easy_ even while they claim that they’re serial monogamists and just want a girl who drinks beer and understands football but still stare at her tits every chance they get and make bets in the locker room about whether or not she stayed a virgin after her one date with Marcus Flint during freshman year—

God, she fucking _hates_ those assholes.

“Pansy Parkinson,” she coos, introducing herself with coy flutter of her lashes because _fuck_ this guy, seriously, he’s probably _exactly_ Hermione’s type. “I’m volunteering here for the rest of the summer. Are you here for a puppy? Or—no, maybe a rabbit?”

He clears his throat. “Er—neither, I’m not here for a pet, but—a rabbit? What?”

She giggles in as high a vocal register as she can physically manage and has to bite back a smirk when he grimaces at the sound. “Oh, just, you know, they’re kind of twitchy and antisocial and those don’t really seem like qualities you’d be too bothered by,” she chirps blithely, twirling the end of her hair.

His gaze flickers with surprise and maybe even a little interest before shutting down and going sharp with irritation. “You’re right,” he says, deadpan. “I’m much more bothered by those fluffy, high-maintenance little purse dogs that _never stop barking_.”

She glares.

He sarcastically motions for her to walk ahead of him into the building.

Yeah—

 _Fuck_ this guy.

 

* * *

 

(6:35 pm) **_what even is a top chef_**

(6:35 pm) **_like_**

(6:35 pm) **_top of WHAT_**

(6:36 pm) **_you know?_**

(6:38 pm) _yeah blaise’s second most recent ex stepdad is a producer i guess and he said that show is totally fake_

(6:38 pm) _all staged_

(6:38 pm) _and the sidebars are like scripted and stuff_

(6:40 pm) **_huh_**

(6:43 pm) **_this stefan guy is such a dick though and it seems pretty…_**

(6:43 pm) **_organic?_**

(6:45 pm) _the bald swedish guy??_

(6:46 pm) **_i think he’s from finland_**

(6:46 pm) _yeah same thing lol_

(6:46 pm) _he was definitely a dick_

(6:47 pm) **_such a dick_**

(6:50 pm) **_but_**

(6:50 pm) **_like_**

(6:50 pm) **_still kind of hot, right? objectively i mean_**

(6:53 pm) _um_

(6:53 pm) **_like there’s something about him_**

(6:53 pm) **_usually WHEN he’s being a dick_**

(6:53 pm) **_it’s some kind of weird asshole phenomenon i think_**

(6:53 pm) **_i fucking see it everywhere ugh_**

(6:54 pm) **_like they go from a soft 6 to a solid 9 in 30 seconds flat_**

(6:54 pm) _THAT’S WHAT SHE SAID_

 

* * *

 

His name is Harry Potter.

He’s a sophomore in college and, according to Millicent, has a lot of pent-up orphan angst as well as a tumultuous on-and-off relationship with the youngest Weasley girl. Pansy learns that he’s some kind of soccer prodigy—he apparently turned down a try-out with the national team because he wanted to do something more useful with his life like go into teaching or law enforcement or fucking fast-food franchise ownership, who even _cares_ —and he’s been best friends with Hermione since they were children. On paper, he’s a typical white-bread nice guy with sad eyes and a tragic past and he therefore has an essentially bulletproof excuse to be a sulky condescending dipshit to whoever he damn well wants and Pansy _cannot fucking stand him._

She thinks the feeling might be mutual.

He snickers meanly when she refuses to vacuum the Reptile Room—because monitor lizards are _fucking terrifying_ and have _forked black tongues_ and unapologetically remind her of every single bad B-grade horror movie she’d had to suffer through at Daphne’s slumber parties in junior high and, just, _no_ , Pansy’s not doing that again—and he huffs with disdain when he spots her gluing baby blue claw caps to the front paws of a litter of Maine Coon kittens. He makes a hundred and one scathing, scornful jokes about how young and pampered and naïve she is, how ludicrously skimpy her sundresses are, how Hermione should probably speak more slowly when she explains how to administer eye drops to the Beagle with the corneal abrasion because Pansy might need some extra time to fully grasp the _concept_ —

He’s a dick, basically.

But then she catches him glancing appreciatively at the curve of her ass when she bends over in her new outrageously tight vintage cut-offs and it’s like a cartoon lightbulb goes off over her head because _oh my God_ how is this guy even half of a functioning adult if this is how he goes about wooing unsuspecting high school girls and she _knows_ , okay, she knows that she has to avenge her own honor or whatever because _seriously_ , he’s _seriously_ a dick—so she goes on the offensive.

She wears shorter shorts and smaller skirts and the laciest, raciest push-up bras she can unearth from the depths of both the internet and Daphne’s underwear drawer; she buys a giant plastic container of Blow Pops and sucks and licks and slurps at them as messily as she knows how; she draws his attention to her mouth with vibrant shiny candy-red lipstick and she drags melting ice cubes from the shitty employee refrigerator down the overheated skin of her chest when they get assigned to walk the Dalmatians together and she’s _obscenely_ loud about recounting her scandalous, sexually-explicit Staff Sergeant Pucey dreams to Millicent during their mid-morning Nutella breaks—

And things change.

Sort of.

 

* * *

 

(3:22 pm) **_can u ask blaise if he knows someone for me? from school?_**

(3:22 pm) _u can’t ask him urself?_

(3:23 pm) **_he’s not picking up his phone and i assumed he was with you_**

(3:25 pm) _he’s with theo_

(3:25 pm) _they’re on a date_

(3:25 pm) _i think they’re mini golfing_

(3:25 pm) **_???????????????????????????????????????????_**

(3:25 pm) **_with each other or_**

(3:27 pm) _yeah_

(3:28 pm) _we’re…trying something i guess u could say_

(3:28 pm) _it’s all very experimental_

(3:28 pm) **_kinky_**

(3:28 pm) **_and kind of hot_**

(3:30 pm) _yeah_

(3:31 pm) _so hot actually_

(3:31 pm) _like_

(3:31 pm) _im pretty sure im forever ruined for regular sex now but like WHAT A WAY TO GO you know_

(3:33 pm) **_um_**

(3:33 pm) **_logistics???_**

(3:33 pm) _well_

(3:33 pm) _let me put it this way_

(3:34 pm) _if i had a sex bucket list like u do_

(3:34 pm) _i could probably just set it on fire at this point_

(3:35 pm) **_i cant figure out if im jealous or not_**

(3:36 pm) _im acutally a little jealous of myself if that helps_

(3:36 pm) **_it…might?_**

(3:37 pm) _anyway_

(3:37 pm) _dracos here eating all the oreos again_

(3:37 pm) _making those gross gigantic sandwich things with the filling_

(3:38 pm) _ugh its like he doesn’t know what a calorie is_

(3:38 pm) _but um u can ask him whatever u wanted to ask blaise?_

(3:40 pm) **_yeah_**

(3:40 pm) **_draco’s metabolism is half the reason i stopped going to church_**

(3:40 pm) _AMEN_

(3:41 pm) **_ask him if he has any classes with harry potter_**

(3:41 pm) **_or_**

(3:41 pm) **_as i prefer to call him_**

(3:41 pm) **_captain asshole_**

(3:41 pm) **_??_**

(3:42 pm) _he’s choking_

(3:43 pm) _so_

(3:44 pm) _i think that’s a yes?_

 

* * *

 

On her ninth day, she asks Draco to pick her up at the end of her shift. She gives him the wrong time, of course, because she has a _plan_ and a grudge and it isn’t like she’s ever been all that punctual to begin with. Besides—Blaise had told her that Draco and Harry have some kind of obsessive, crazy embarrassing playground rivalry that no one else really pays attention to or understands the reasoning behind and Pansy desperately needs to see what _that_ is all about because she isn’t morally opposed to blackmail and Draco is in possession of the only remaining photographic evidence of the six months she wore braces in the fifth grade, so. It’s fair.

“Pansy, I love you like the sister I never really wanted, but it smells like guinea pigs in here and I don’t—”

“ _Draco?_ ” Hermione gasps, and Pansy spins around, startled, just in time to see Hermione fumble with a navy blue ceramic water dish that’s shaped like a fish. “What are you—wait, you two—you know _Pansy_?”

Draco gapes at Hermione, his douchebag wood-framed Ray Bans dangling precariously from the tip of one finger. Hermione’s face is flushed, and she looks weirdly panicked and indignant and angry and Pansy has no idea what the fuck is going on.

“Do I know—how do you— _this_ is where you work?” Draco finally blurts out, visibly upset. “I thought you said—”

“I didn’t lie,” Hermione interjects quickly, huffing and fidgeting and crossing her arms over her chest; her hair is escaping its customary textbook-smooth French braid, and the ugly ribbed cotton tank top she’s wearing is riding up the front of her stomach. Pansy doesn’t think she’s ever seen Hermione so flustered. Or disheveled. It’s pretty fascinating. “I _do_ work at my parents’ practice on Saturdays, but that isn’t— _what_ are you doing here? Did you follow me?”

Draco’s jaw drops. “Yeah, no, you definitely _did_ lie to me,” he retorts, his expression turning mutinous. “And no, I didn’t _follow you_ , Jesus _fuck_ , although maybe I should have, huh?”

Hermione’s lips compress into a thin white line. “Did you ever think, Draco, that I had a very good _reason_ for compartmentalizing my life? You and I—it was never serious, you said that yourself and quite clearly _meant it_ if you’re hanging around with _Pansy_ now, so why should I have risked—”

“ _Never serious_?” Draco repeats, voice growing louder. “ _Seven months_ of monogamy and you—you unbelievable fucking—”

The metal door swings open.

“Hey, ‘Mione, where’d you put the ferret food?” Harry asks, shuffling backwards into the room, his threadbare, heather grey v-neck damp with sweat and sticking in a really frustratingly distracting fashion to the sinuously shifting muscles in his shoulders and upper back because yeah, duh, why _wouldn’t_ the totally awful, totally off-limits older guy who confiscated and then _threw away_ her last pack of imported clove cigarettes just that morning be fucking _stupid-hot_. “What the fuck? What’s—why the hell is _Malfoy_ here?”

Hermione flinches guiltily.

Unsurprisingly, it all goes downhill from there.

 

* * *

 

(5:08 pm) _what does vociferous mean_

(5:08 pm) _i keep thinking it has something to do with trees_

(5:08 pm) _but idk_

(6:30 pm) **_draco was totally banging my uptight nerdy boss_**

(6:31 pm) **_and u know how he was planning on introducing her to us at your party last week_**

(6:32 pm) _yeah_

(6:32 pm) _he was pretty bummed when she didn’t show_

(6:33 pm) **_yeah he’s all into her_**

(6:33 pm) **_it’s way more gross than it is cute_**

(6:33 pm) **_but_**

(6:33 pm) **_get this_**

(6:34 pm) **_he’s like her dirty little secret or something_**

(6:34 pm) **_she lied aobut where she lived and stuff and her friends had no idea they were even together_**

(6:35 pm) _oh HELL no_

(6:36 pm) _i will cut a bitch_

(6:36 pm) _we should key her car_

(6:37 pm) **_it was pretty fucked up_**

(6:37 pm) **_like_**

(6:40 pm) **_draco came to drive me home and she was just all like “what are you doing here? are you stalking me? how dare you have feelings?” and then captain asshole barges in and he goes apeshit on draco_ **

(6:41 pm) **_and me_**

(6:41 pm) **_like me called me dracos “flavor of the week” which_**

(6:41 pm) **_hello_**

(6:41 pm) **_inaccurate_**

(6:41 pm) **_NOT FUCKING HIM_**

(6:42 pm) **_or anyone for that matter ugh_**

(6:42 pm) **_but yeah_**

(6:43 pm) **_it was kind of a disaster_**

(6:45 pm) _ouch_

(6:45 pm) _u should throw a party when ur dads away next week_

(6:46 pm) _and invite these bitches_

(6:46 pm) _i’ll get marcus to come down_

(6:46 pm) _he’ll bring pucey_

(6:46 pm) _maybe warrington if he isnt at one of those weird supper clubs in jersey_

(6:47 pm) _we’ll pull a carrie on their asses_

(6:47 pm) **_bloodstains_**

(6:47 pm) **_no_**

(6:47 pm) **_also ew_**

(6:47 pm) _i didn’t mean literally pans_

(6:48 pm) _but srsly_

(6:48 pm) _they picked the wrong people to fuck with_

(6:52 pm) **_yeah_**

(6:56 pm) **_they did_**

(6:56 pm) **_vociferous means aggressive btw_**

(6:56 pm) **_nothing to do w/ trees_**

 

* * *

 

On her twelfth day, she’s standing next to a bank of stainless steel wire bird cages and clasping a shrink-wrapped package of pine wood shavings to her chest and legitimately _praying for strength_ when Harry pauses in the doorway for no readily apparent reason other than to scowl disapprovingly in her general direction and that just—

No.

That’s fucking it.

“Hey, asshole, what’s your _deal_?” she demands, dropping the wood shavings and ignoring the piercing shriek of a nearby lorikeet.

He scoffs. “I’d accuse you of playing dumb, but somehow I don’t think you have to try that hard.”

She props her hand on her hip and points a furious finger at him. “No, see, _that_ — _that_ level of animosity is totally uncalled for,” she snaps. “I was never _actually_ sleeping with your BFF’s boy toy—good job jumping to conclusions, by the way, a-plus for effort—which is literally the _only thing_ I can conceivably think of that might make your perpetual, like, _rage monster_ bad mood around me even a tiny bit understandable—”

“Jesus Christ,” he bursts out, interrupting her, stalking closer, “you think _everything’s_ about you, don’t you—and don’t even answer that, because _of course you do_ , you’re just like every other obnoxious—”

“Um, newsflash, fuckface, the premise of this _entire conversation_ is about why you, like, arbitrarily decided to hate me, so, yeah, it has to be at least a _little_ about me—”

“—selfish, _superficial_ daddy’s girl with a trust fund—”

“—are you just making this up as you go along? Because I don’t have a fucking _trust fund_ , God—”

“—bratty and spoiled and, and, _entitled_ —”

“—this isn’t, like, an episode of _The O.C._ and you are _definitely_ not a hotter but way less funny version of Seth Cohen—”

“—bet you don’t know how to care about anything other than yourself—”

She grits her teeth and feels a faint glimmer of shame and uncertainty which, okay, sure, awesome, another _totally valid_ excuse to hate the guy. She’ll take it. “Aw, what gave me away?” she simpers, crossing her arms over her upper abdomen; it’s kind of like she’s hugging herself, but that’s too fucking pathetic to even ironically contemplate so she’s careful not to go there. “Was it the lip gloss? It’s strawberry flavored, in case you were curious.”

His nostrils flare and his eyebrows twitch and he looks so ridiculous that she can’t hold back an insulting snort of laughter that she refuses on principle to acknowledge as unkind because, seriously, again, _fuck this guy_ , he deserves it. “Artificially sweet,” he returns, meeting her eyes with what she thinks might be an unspoken challenge. Or maybe a threat. Given their track record, it’s probably the latter. “Must be contagious.”

She smirks.

He wants a challenge?

“Can’t really be sure,” she says with a calculated shrug of her shoulders—and her breasts heave and the neckline of her shirt slips down and the scalloped black lace edge of her bra peeks out and yeah, she’s almost definitely going to win this…conversation—argument—thing. Whatever. “I don’t know what I taste like.”

His gaze darts from her mouth to her cleavage and then up and down her legs and the dull pink flush creeping around the side of his neck is so fucking delicious that she nearly forgets to keep her face blank. “And here I was under the impression that you had your very own subsection on Reddit,” he replies, and the set of his jaw is tense and hard and combative but he’s rocking back on his heels like he’s nervous and that’s unexpected enough that she doesn’t tell herself she’s being stupid when she takes a step forward.

“Did you try and _Google me_?” she asks, absolutely fucking _delighted_. “You did, didn’t you? That’s either super cute or super creepy, I can’t even—”

“It wasn’t _creepy_ —” he blusters, raking his fingers through his hair.

“I bet you say that to all the girls,” she sighs, patting him on the shoulder.

He glances at her hand. She doesn’t remove it. “You’re not a girl,” he counters quietly. “You’re a _problem_.”

She chews on the inside of her mouth—and then her tongue darts out to wet her lips and he _swallows_ when she drags her nails down his arm, fingertips skimming over soft warm tan skin, and the air goes still around them, still and hot and electric, and her breathing falters and his pupils expand and eclipse those bright bright _bright_ green eyes and she has an insane thought about how she’s out of her depth in a _big_ way, an important way, and she wants to drown in it and she wants to drown in _him_ because he’s lowering his head and she’s tilting hers up and she’s almost painfully aware of every inch of her body, of every inch of his, of where they aren’t touching and where they _should_ be touching and—

“You know what you do with problems, Harry?” she murmurs mischievously, and the words fucking _tingle_ as they leave her mouth and fall into his.

His hands hover over her hips, hesitant and trembling. “No,” he admits, voice cracking. “What do I do?”

She presses her thighs together. “You fucking _solve_ them,” she says, and his eyes darken and her pulse races and then—

And then—

And then a trio of powder blue parakeets are screeching and pecking at the bars of their cage and Harry and her are springing apart like they’ve been fucking _electrocuted_ and he’s turning around and walking away from her about as quickly as he can without flat-out running.

“That was weak!” she calls after him, shaky and mocking. “You could have at least tried to grope me before you escaped!”

From the hallway, she hears him swear and collide with a plastic cart full of squeaking cat toys.

She smiles—

Until she remembers what he’d said about her before she—before they—just, _before_.

Her smile fades.

She doesn’t really want to think about why.

 

* * *

 

(6:00 pm) **_do i really have to come to dinner_**

(6:05 pm) **_daph_**

(6:22 pm) **_daphhhhhhh_**

(6:33 pm) _yes_

(6:33 pm) _and u have to wear The Dress_

(6:37 pm) **_how long did it take u to capitalize that_**

(6:38 pm) **_more or less than one whole minute_**

(6:39 pm) _quit deflecting_

(6:39 pm) _and put the goddamn Dress on_

(6:43 pm) **_this is dumb_**

(6:43 pm) **_crashing ur confusing threesome date_**

(6:44 pm) **_im like the fourth wheel_**

(6:44 pm) **_on a tricycle_**

(6:44 pm) **_be honest do u just want me there to eat all the breadsticks_**

(6:44 pm) **_u do dont u_**

(6:47 pm) _why r u acting so weird_

(6:47 pm) _what happened_

(6:48 pm) _??_

(6:52 pm) _is this about draco and all the epic moping hes been doing over that girl who looks like a librarian_

(6:52 pm) _but like an actual librarian_

(6:52 pm) _not a hot one_

(6:55 pm) **_The Dress is too short_**

(6:57 pm) _wtf_

(6:57 pm) _im coming over_

(6:59 pm) **_no no_**

(6:59 pm) **_im fine_**

(7:00 pm) **_but im wearing a maxi skirt_**

(7:00 pm) **_and a crop top_**

(7:00 pm) _PANSY_

(7:00 pm) _YOU WOULDNT DARE_

(7:00 pm) _TAKE THAT BACK RIGHT NOW_

(7:02 pm) **_who are u really unsubtly trying to set me up with btw_**

(7:02 pm) **_it isn’t marcus again is it_**

(7:03 pm) _i mean_

(7:03 pm) _it’s not NOT marcus_

(7:04 pm) **_ugh_**

(7:04 pm) **_hes too big_**

(7:04 pm) **_i always feel like hes going to accidentally break me_**

(7:05 pm) **_like_**

(7:06 pm) **_one of his biceps is bigger than my head_**

(7:07 pm) **_plus whenever we argue he just grunts and pets my hair_**

(7:09 pm) **_and idk_**

(7:10 pm) **_his eyes are SO blue_**

(7:12 pm) _are you listing reasons to date him or to not date him im lost_

(7:19 pm) **_i like green better_**

 

* * *

 

Her dad gives her back the keys to her Land Rover the night before he leaves for Fort Lauderdale.

“I’m proud of you, sweet pea,” he tells her, briskly twisting off the cap of his beer bottle but not actually drinking any of it.

She looks up from the totally _bitchin’_ pair of suede fringe ankle boots she’s taking out of a silver Nordstrom shopping bag and blinks in confusion because _what_? “Um,” she says. “Thank you?”

He chuckles wryly. “I know you could have finagled a way out of your community service if you’d really wanted to,” he explains, peeling at the pretentious parchment label on the front of his beer; she doesn’t know who the hell introduced him to _independent microbreweries_ but it’s super embarrassing to go to Whole Foods with him now which means that it’s probably Lucius Malfoy’s fault. “You could have spent the summer at the pool with Daphne and those boys you two always have tagging along.”

Pansy thinks that this is perhaps far too innocent of an estimation of how she would have spent her summer had she not been volunteering to clean up after homeless puppies but she wisely chooses not to mention it. “Yeah,” she says, stalling. She puts down her new boots and moves to grab a Diet Coke from the refrigerator. “I mean. It hasn’t been that bad.”

Her dad studies her with his crazy penetrating Ghost Protocol interrogation eyes and she gulps down about half of her soda. “Well,” he replies, propping his elbows on the kitchen island and fiddling with her rhinestone-encrusted pink leather Juicy keychain; it’s shaped like a cupcake and the icing is covered in rainbow-tinted glitter. “Whatever—or _whoever_ —is keeping you there…I’m proud of you for sticking with it as long as you have.”

She reaches up to adjust the knot of her halter top and curls her toes into the smooth hardwood floor and ignores how uncomfortably tight her chest suddenly feels. “I’m um—I’m home for dinner tonight, so,” she eventually says. “Pizza?”

He takes a sip of his beer. “Sure, sweet pea—but no mushrooms.”

“We always get mushrooms,” she reminds him, already scrolling through her phone. “Mom loved them.”

She hears the TV switch on and the familiar background lull of whatever old basketball game is currently playing on ESPN Classic. “Yes,” he drawls, “but you never have. You pick them off.”

She furrows her brow. “But—”

“Pansy, it’s okay,” he interrupts, and his tone is gentle and patient and understanding and she feels a little like she has whiplash because her dad loves her, of course he loves her, but he hasn’t used that particular voice around her in _years_ , not since after the funeral when he’d been shoving her into the offices of what seemed like every grief counselor and adolescent psychologist on the entire fucking eastern seaboard and she had finally _lost it_ and just screamed and screamed and screamed into her purple satin pillow and he had admitted that he didn’t know what to _do_ with her and she still sometimes remembers how exhausted he’d looked and how selfish she’d felt and the relief that had clouded his features when she’d apologized and lied and told him she was fine fine _fine_ she just had her period and it was always worse on the second day and could he please find her some chocolate and her box set of _Friends_ DVDs and maybe call Daphne for her because—

“Right,” she says absently, tapping her fingers against the cold aluminum of her soda can; she’s wearing the sterling Tiffany tennis bracelet her dad had bought her for her tenth birthday and absolutely hates how young she feels. “No mushrooms.”

He mutes the TV just as some raspy two-packs-a-day commentator from the eighties starts to rant about Larry Bird. “Maybe we should get Thai instead,” he suggests mildly.

 

* * *

 

(2:01 pm) _so im at bevmo with theo and blaise and draco_

(2:02 pm) _ and theyre just getting vodka and that gross cinnamon stuff with the gold flakes in it because apparently the librarian dracos obsessed with really likes it and he thinks she might come tonight  _

(2:02 pm) _ugh_

(2:02 pm) _why is even still talking to her_

(2:04 pm) _anyway_

(2:04 pm) _any special requests_

(2:05 pm) _like maybe a handle of captain morgan for captain asshole_

(2:07 pm) **_omg_**

(2:07 pm) **_that explains so much_**

(2:07 pm) **_shes been like WHISTLING all morning_**

(2:08 pm) **_she didn’t evne make me refill the litter boxes with millicent earlier_**

(2:08 pm) **_how gross_**

(2:08 pm) **_i bet theyre banging again_**

(2:15 pm) _yeah dracos got some definite swagger in his step today_

(2:15 pm) _smug face level 200_

(2:17 pm) **_hes so annoying when hes getting laid_**

(2:17 pm) **_its like his chin gets extra pointy_**

(2:18 pm) **_u guys should lock him in the freezer where they store the kegs_**

(2:18 pm) **_keep him on his toes_**

(2:19 pm) _lolllllllllll_

(2:19 pm) _he wouldnt even notice_

(2:19 pm) _hed just see all the craft beer and start drooling_

(2:20 pm) _him and his dad are so fucking intense about that shit_

(2:20 pm) **_RIGHT_**

(2:21 pm) _any last requests??_

(2:21 pm) _champagne?_

(2:22 pm) ** _red bull_**

(2:22 pm) **_and maybe some blueberry stoli_**

(2:22 pm) **_?_**

(2:22 pm) _blueberry stoli tastes like muffins_

(2:23 pm) **_yeah_**

(2:28 pm) **_i wonder if harry is going to even come tonight_**

(2:28 pm) _captain asshole?_

(2:29 pm) **_like_**

(2:29 pm) **_i didnt invite him_**

(2:29 pm) **_but_**

(2:30 pm) _yeah_

(2:30 pm) _um_

(2:30 pm) _about that_

 

* * *

 

It’s a little after eleven and Pansy is in the middle of her living room doing watermelon Jello shots with most of the men’s water polo team from Georgetown and trying really, _really_ hard not to glance too obviously at the front door every few minutes but she’s almost drunk and she’s idiotically anxious andshe’s wearing The Dress and her tits look _awesome_ and her eyeliner is _on point_ and in her expert opinion pretty much _everyone_ should want to fuck her because even _she_ would want to fuck her but she’s waiting for—she’s waiting for—

Harry and Hermione walk in with three Weasleys and Neville Longbottom.

Pansy gapes blearily at all of them for about twenty seconds too long.

“Turn down for _what_!” Daphne sing-yells as she shimmies in from the backyard; she’s being held up by a bemused Blaise and an exasperated Theo, and she squints at Harry and Hermione when she notices them at the door. “Oh, hey—Captain Asshole and the librarian! _Draco! Draco, come inside!_ Your booty call is here!”

Hermione’s cheeks turn pink and the two Weasley brothers choke on either laughter or outrage, Pansy can’t really tell, and the girl Weasley just scoffs and leans closer to Harry, who is—

Well.

Harry is staring right at Pansy, mouth slack and eyes wide and the expression on his face makes her gut clench with something slow and scorching and _dirty_ and she fucking _shivers_ because he _wants_ her and—

He scowls.

“Sleeping your way through the roster, Parkinson?” he demands, nodding at the water polo boys behind her, most of whom have apparently taken off half their clothing in the two minutes she’s been unfairly distracted by Harry and his _everything_ and while the almost drunk and judgmentally impaired part of her is fucking _thrilled_ that he’s clearly jealous on her behalf, the sane sensible significantly less drunk part of her is pissed that he thinks he has the _right_ to be.

She narrows her eyes. “Body shots!” she announces loudly, holding up her forgotten Jello shot and squeezing it into her mouth; she doesn’t look away from Harry as she swallows and she smirks when a muscle in his jaw visibly twitches.

“ _Turn down for_ —wait, what? Body shots?” Daphne slurs, idly smacking a kiss against Blaise’s neck and smearing her lipstick along the collar of his shirt. Blaise just sighs fondly while Theo smiles and tucks a strand of Daphne’s hair behind her ear. “I swear, you have the _best ideas_ , someone find salt and help me with my zipper because we’re going first, Pans, it’ll be like cheer camp all over again!”

Harry’s forehead creases in a frown.

Pansy arches a brow.

“You coming, Potter?” she asks sweetly, and she _knows_ it’s a dare—of course it’s a dare, what else is their nonexistent relationship even _about_ —a dare that he’d have to be an _imbecile_ to not pick up on—

He shrugs. “Probably not till later,” he replies with a smug, easy grin.

Her answering laugh is a little strangled and a lot hysterical but she doesn’t even care because he’s sauntering towards her with _intent_ and he’s doing that behind-the-back one-armed shirt removal thing that she has never actually understood the mechanics of and she’s _so happy_ that she has panties on that have lace _everywhere_ because friction is absolutely a thing that she needs more of and if she shifts her thighs _just right_ she can—

“Holy shit!” Daphne suddenly shrieks. “Is that fucking _Neville Longbottom_? When did he get _hot_?”

 

* * *

 

(12:05 am) _pans_

(12:05 am) _PPPPANSY_

(12:06 am) _PETER PAN_

(12:06 am) _PANSANELLA_

(12:06 am) _PANCAKE_

(12:06 am) _PAN-AMURRRICA_

(12:09 am) **_omg whhatttt_**

(12:09 am) **_and pansanella isnt a word_**

(12:09 am) **_its a salad_**

(12:10 am) **_and u spelled it so wrong like arent u dating an italian guy where the fuck is he and why did he let u keep ur phone_**

(12:11 am) _I LOVE YOU SO MUCH_

(12:11 am) **_um_**

(12:11 am) _NO_

(12:11 am) _I LOVE YOU_

(12:11 am) _SO MUCHHHHH_

(12:11 am) _I KNO I ALREDY HAVE A SISTER BUT SHE SUCKS SO MUCH LIKE ALL SHE CARES ABOUT ARE THOSE WEIRD PONY CARTOONS AND PEANUT BUTTER_

(12:13 am) **_astoria is ten years old_**

(12:14 am) _SO UR MY SISTER IN ALL THE WAYS THAT MATTER OKAY_

(12:15 am) _LIKE_

(12:15 am) _I KNOW WE DONT DO THIS_

(12:15 am) _CUZ UR ALLERGIC TO FEELINGS_

(12:16 am) _BECAUSE OF UR THING WITH UR MOM_

(12:16 am) _AND BECAUSE UR DADS LIKE THE FUCKING PATRIOT IN ROBOT FORM OR SOMETHING_

(12:16 am) _IDK_

(12:16 am) _FEELINGS MAKE U WEIRD_

(12:17 am) _BUT_

(12:17 am) _I LOVE YOU SO MUCH AND I NEVER WANT YOU TO NOT KNOW THAT OKAY_

(12:19 am) **_where are you?_**

(12:20 am) _im in ur hot tub with blaze and theo_

(12:20 am) _blaise_

(12:20 am) _BLAISE and theo_

(12:21 am) _theyre making out_

(12:21 am) _its like all my dreasm coming true at once_

(12:22 am) _is this what fairy tales look like_

(12:25 am) _where did u goooo_

(12:25 am) _marcus and pucey are on their way btw_

(12:25 am) _with vince and greg and someone named millicent?? idk_

(12:32 am) _pansyyyyy_

(12:47 am) **_oh_**

(12:49 am) _r u coming out here????_

(12:55 am) **_im in my bathroom with captain asshole_**

(12:57 am) **_brb_**

(12:57 am) **_i think he locked the door_**

 

* * *

 

“I wanted to apologize,” Harry says stiffly, inspecting a tube of tinted Dermalogica moisturizer with what seems to her like a super unnecessary amount of urgency. “I wasn’t…nice to you, and you didn’t really deserve it at first—”

“ _At first_?” she echoes, incredulous.

“—I made a lot of assumptions,” he continues, turning his attention to a small palette of metallic grey eye shadow. “I was just—I’ve spent a really long time avoiding girls like you—”

“ _Girls like me_?” she bleats.

“—and it wasn’t personal, not exactly, I just…” he trails off, grimacing at a pair of tweezers she’d left sitting next to the toothpaste on the far counter. “I didn’t wantto _like_ you, and with the way you look—”

“ _The way I look?”_

“—since I’ve only been in one real relationship—which I fucked up, by the way,” he goes on, peering skeptically at a giant glass jar full of cotton balls. “And you seemed, you know, _experienced—_ ”

“ _Experienced?”_

“—and I figured out pretty quick that the—the _vain, ditzy airhead_ thing was all just an act,” he says, flicking the plastic dispenser on a bottle of gingerbread-scented hand soap. “And I maybe…I maybe was waiting for you to slip up and prove me wrong about that—”

“Is this really happening right now? _”_

“—but you were so…I mean, yeah, you’re attractive, which you _rubbed in my face_ every fucking chance you got,” he grumbles, looking irritated; he runs his fingers across a neatly folded pink washcloth hanging from her towel rack. “And I didn’t think you actually…I mean, I knew you didn’t like me very much, I made sure of that, but the idea of you even being attracted to me seemed so _far-fetched—_ ”

“This is the worst apology in the history of apologies, oh my _God_.”

“—so that day in the aviary, I couldn’t really tell if you were fucking with me or not, but you were so…so… _different_ from who I wanted you to be—you weren’t vapid and you weren’t stupid and you weren’t going to let me get away with treating you like I had been—”

“Seriously, you need to shut up, this is _terrible_.”

“—and I know I’ve been a dick—”

“Understatement.”

“—but I really—I want to talk to you and make you laugh and take you to the fucking movies and maybe meet your dad and—and I want you to prove me _right_ , okay—”

“I thought you were doing better for, like, a split-second there, but—yeah, false alarm.”

“—so, I’m sorry,” he finishes, folding his arms over his chest and scrunching up his nose. “I like you a lot, Pansy.”

She deflates a little at how unbelievably fucking _earnest_ he sounds. “I—I think I like you, too. Maybe. Probably.”

He leans backwards against the counter and gives her a smile that’s slow and sincere and adorable. “Okay,” he says expectantly. “Your turn.”

She cocks her head to the side. “What?”

“To apologize,” he clarifies. “For, you know, the teasing and the lollipops and that shit you pulled with the ice cubes.”

She blinks for a while and tries with minimal success to process what he just said because—

“ _What_?”

 

* * *

 

(01:10 am) _omg_

(01:10 am) _so draco just had the weirdest ffight w/ the librarian_

(01:10 am) _she poured a can of red bull down his shirt_

(01:10 am) _they were yelling at each other_

(01:10 am) _about mistletoe_

(01:10 am) _which_

(01:11 am) _what_

(01:11 am) _its july_

(01:12 am) _anyway theyre gone now_

(01:13 am) _she left_

(01:13 am) _and he chased after her_

(01:16 am) _those redheads are fucking owning at beer pong btw_

(01:17 am) _except the girl_

(01:17 am) _shes with the water polo team_

(01:20 am) _who are they anyway_

(01:20 am) _like why r they here_

(01:22 am) _OOOOH marcus and pucey just showed up w/ some girl who looks like a yeti_

(01:25 am) _where r youuuuu_

 

* * *

 

Pansy _means_ to slap him.

She’s pretty sure about that.

But when she raises her hand and opens her mouth to say something totally cutting and ruthless and _scathing_ —

She just—

She _means_ to slap him.

She does.

Except—

That isn’t what happens.

Not exactly.

 

* * *

 

(01:33 am) _omg neville longbottom is passed out in the pool_

(01:33 am) _is it bad if hes face down_

(01:34 am) _should blaise help him_

(01:36 am) _marcus is hardcore looking for u btw_

(01:39 am) _and vince and greg brought ediblessss_

(01:39 am) _the redheads are all about it_

(01:39 am) _theyre bonding_

(01:39 am) _awwwwww_

(01:39 am) _wait are they twins?_

(01:39 am) _how did i not notice that_

(01:44 am) _srsly where are u were going to taco bell_

(01:44 am) _do u want a chalupa_

(01:50 am) _oh god_

(01:50 am) _my weird neighbor has ur address????_

(01:50 am) _he says he skipped a raid with his guild to come tonite_

(01:51 am) _wtf_

(01:54 am) _pansyyyyyyy_

(01:57 am) _what is larping_

(01:58 am) _is it an instrument_

(01:59 am) _fow3iht23oth2332g_

(01:59 am) _fff_

(02:07 am) _marcus is going upstairs???? he has ur chalupa_

 

* * *

 

Harry kisses her like they’re still fighting, all teeth and tongue and a bruising grip around her waist, which, yeah, none of those are things that she’d ever thought she’d particularly like but _wow_ does she _really really_ like them because she’s moaning into his mouth and it’s echoing against the custom tilework in her bathroom and he’s pushing her back to sit on the sink and stepping between her legs to spread her thighs as wide as they can go and he’s working his hand underneath the hem of The Dress and later—much fucking later—she’ll remember to be super embarrassed about the sound she makes when he rubs his thumb against the lace of her underwear but she’s way, way, way too far gone and he’s grinding the heel of his palm against her clit and she can’t think or talk or focus or anything and—

“Fuck, you’re wet,” he groans into the base of her throat, and then bites down on her collarbone and deftly flicks his wrist and oh, _oh_ , that’s definitely a finger and it’s definitely not enough because fuck fuck _fuck_ why did no one ever tell her how good this feels? “I wanted to do this the day we met, you know, thought about it all the fucking time and kept having to remind myself you weren’t—we weren’t—”

She reaches out and rakes her nails down the front of his jeans, feeling for the outline of his cock, and he jerks forward, into her hand, and she realizes that she finally understands the fundamental appeal of all this sex stuff because _holy fucking shit_ does she want to see him and touch him and taste him and maybe her mouth is watering and maybe that isn’t the standard physical reaction she’s supposed to be having to a guy’s dick in her hand but this is _Harry_ and she thinks a little frantically that she might have been suppressing the specifics of her attraction to him since they’d initially traded abysmal first impressions because yes yes _yes_ this is simultaneously everything and fucking _nothing_ like what she’s been waiting for—

“You’re an idiot,” she gasps. “Such—such—such an _idiot_ —”

He smiles into her sweat slick skin and he pulls at the already-low neckline of The Dress and he’s kneading her breasts with one hand and toying with her clit with the other and she wants to say something snarky about multitasking but he closes his lips around her nipple and slides a second finger into her cunt and she basically forgets _everything_ other than the grazing sting of his teeth and the insistent pulsing thud of her heartbeat—

“ _Your_ idiot,” he corrects, and she definitely thought he hatedher less than an hour ago so it really shouldn’t be sexy and it really shouldn’t be cute and they should probably be talking about all of this in much greater detail but her brain chemistry is apparently susceptible to all kinds of illogical shit when Harry is involved because her spine melts and her breath hitches and he thrusts his fingers a little faster and sucks a mark into the underside of her breast and she’s teetering on the edge of something _awesome_ and this isn’t the impersonal robotic hum of a vibrator in the lonely silence of her bedroom after a failed date or a busted party, no, this is faster and harder and better and—

And—

And—

“ _Harry_ ,” she whispers.

“ _Pansy_ ,” he says, soft and plaintive and perfect and she snatches at the collar of his shirt and yanks his face up towards hers and kisses him, kisses him, kisses him—

She comes with a cry.

He drags her orgasm out with soothing swipes of his thumb and she whines, she pants, she trembles—

And then Marcus Flint kicks the bathroom door open and everything pretty much goes to shit.

 

* * *

 

(2:30 pm) **_last night_**

(2:30 pm) **_was an unholy disaster_**

(2:30 pm) **_jesus christ_**

(2:32 pm) _ur ring tone is so annoying when im hungover why do i let u talk me into using pit bull songs for ANYTHING_

(2:32 pm) _like no motherfucker i dont want ur gasolina go away_

(2:32 pm) **_??_**

(2:32 pm) **_thats not a pit bull song_**

(2:33 pm) _but wait_

(2:33 pm) _what happened last night_

(2:33 pm) _i remember taco bell_

(2:33 pm) _did u order a mexican pizza again and cry about how it wasnt a real pizza_

(2:35 pm) **_NO_**

(2:36 pm) **_and i still cant believe u put that on youtube_**

(2:36 pm) _10k+ hits and counting bitch_

(2:38 pm) **_i hooked up with harry_**

(2:38 pm) **_in my bathroom_**

(2:38 pm) **_and then marcus broke down the door and punched him in the face_**

(2:40 pm) _???????????????????????????????????????_

(2:40 pm) _!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!_

(2:41 pm) _captain asshole has game?_

(2:41 pm) _i didnt really see that coming_

(2:44 pm) **_ugh no_**

(2:44 pm) **_actually_**

(2:44 pm) **_he has the opposite of game_**

(2:45 pm) **_which is something i find charming???_**

(2:46 pm) **_i guess???_**

(2:49 pm) **_i don’t knowwww daph_**

(2:49 pm) **_hes kind of a moron_**

(2:49 pm) _duh_

(2:50 pm) **_like he some weird hang up about relationships which he didn’t really explain very well but_**

(2:51 pm) **_i got the impression that he wanted to try?_**

(2:51 pm) **_with me?_**

(2:51 pm) **_and i thought i wanted to try too_**

(2:52 pm) **_last night_**

(2:52 pm) **_but now_**

(2:52 pm) **_most of the reasons i like him have to do with how hot he is_**

(2:52 pm) _okay except he isn’t that hot_

(2:53 pm) **_and i realized this morning that i don’t actually know anything about him_**

(2:53 pm) **_like_**

(2:55 pm) **_hes nice to animals and drives a motorcycle and his parents are dead and hes all weird and competitive with draco and hes really bad at apologizing and on that note hes also INSANELY stubborn and its almost impossible for him to even talk HIMSELF out of doing and saying stupid shit even when he actively intellectually knows that its stupid_ **

(2:55 pm) _didnt u literally just say you don’t know anything about him_

(2:55 pm) _wtf_

(2:56 pm) **_and i just_**

(2:57 pm) **_i don’t want to make a mistake_**

(2:57 pm) **_i don’t want to think that my thing with him is one thing_**

(2:57 pm) **_and have it turn out to be another_**

(2:58 pm) _right_

(2:58 pm) _okay_

(2:58 pm) _so_

(2:59 pm) _ur scared of getting hurt_

(2:59 pm) _do u feel better now that ive pointed out the obvious_

(3:02 pm) **_…a little?_**

 

* * *

 

The doorbell rings.

She’s just started a _Keeping Up with the Kardashians_ marathon and has a half-eaten, quickly melting pint of strawberry-mango gelato resting on a bamboo coaster on the coffee table. She isn’t wearing any makeup. Her striped linen pajama shorts are sticking to the backs of her thighs and her bra is on crooked and she doesn’t think she brushed her hair when she woke up that morning and the depressing purple nail polish she’d used on her toenails a few weeks ago is flaking off around the edges and she forgot to put on deodorant and she’s an actual living breathing _mess_ and so it’s only natural that when she goes to open the door it isn’t the UPS guy, no, it’s—

“Harry!” she exclaims, voice high-pitched and kind of warbling. “Um. Hi.”

He has a huge black-violet bruise blossoming across the hinge of his jaw and he’s wearing a surprisingly tight pair of dark-wash jeans that actually fit him and a white v-neck t-shirt with a silk-screened bald eagle printed across the front and he doesn’t look hungover _at all_ which seems supremely unfair considering a little over twelve hours ago he was licking tequila out of her belly button, but, okay, fine, _whatever_.

“I thought…we should talk,” he says awkwardly. “Can I—come in? Is it a bad time?”

She’s still holding the spoon she’d been eating gelato with. She clutches it like it’s a weapon and she’s being accosted in a very shadowy dark alley and then stares at him with a vague sense of panic beginning to unfurl in her stomach because _what is she going to say to him oh my God._ “It’s, um, it’s fine,” she stammers, standing aside. “Not a—not a bad time.”

He follows her into the living room and she motions towards the couch and he looks _amused_ at the sight of both her blanket nest and the pint of gelato and she’s still _holding the fucking spoon_ because she doesn’t know what she’s doing or how to do this or how to talk to him without the benefit of sarcasm and lipstick and—

“Um. I’m just going to—bathroom. Yes. I’ll be—back. Because—bathroom. Don’t—go. Um. Just. Bathroom? Okay?”

And she _flees._

 

* * *

 

(5:44 pm) **_DAPHNE_**

(5:44 pm) **_DAPH_**

(5:44 pm) **_DAPHSICLE_**

(5:44 pm) **_DAFFY DUCK_**

(5:45 pm) **_DAPPHO_**

(5:45 pm) **_DAPHDELION_**

(5:48 pm) _dappho?_

(5:49 pm) _i legit dont get that one_

(5:49 pm) **_HARRY POTTER IS IN MY LIVING ROOM_**

(5:49 pm) **_WATCHING KIM KARDASHIAN HAVE A BABY_**

(5:49 pm) **_AND HE WANTS TO “TALK”_**

(5:49 pm) _ugh that episode was the worst at least kourtney like yanked her own baby out u know_

(5:50 pm) **_AND HE HAS A BRUISE_**

(5:50 pm) **_FROM MARCUS_**

(5:50 pm) _ speaking of u really need to elaborate on that cuz i still don’t know if it was like a violent caveman situation or lke a jealous rage or likea protective older brother reflex  _

(5:50 pm) **_AND WHAT DO I DO WHAT IS THE ETIQUETTE FOR THIS DO I GIVE HIM HOT POCKETS OR BEER OR ICED TEA OR A BLOWJOB OR ALL OF THE ABOVE OR_ **

(5:51 pm) **_HELP ME_**

(5:51 pm) **_!!!!!!!!!!1111111111!@@@@@@@!!!!!!!!!!!1_**

(5:54 pm) _so like_

(5:54 pm) _in the interest of full disclosure_

(5:55 pm) _i am going to laugh at you for this tomorrow_

(5:55 pm) _but_

(5:55 pm) _srsly pans_

(5:55 pm) _just calm the fuck down_

(5:56 pm) _youre hot and smart and devious and awesome and hilarious_

(5:56 pm) _and he looks like he probably spent his formative years at comic con_

(5:56 pm) _if u know what i mean_

(5:57 pm) _which u do_

(5:57 pm) _because ur hot and smart and devious and awesome and hilarious_

(5:59 pm) **_pizza rolls????_**

(6:02 pm) _r u hiding in the bathroom again_

(6:03 pm) **_hiding is a strong word_**

(6:03 pm) _just for that im going to live tweet the shit out of our first double date_

(6:04 pm) _and make u eat all the breadsticks_

 

* * *

 

Pansy doesn’t allow herself to hyperventilate or put on a coat of mascara or even take three-quarters of a Xanax before returning to the living room for what she is convinced will be the most detrimentally unproductive post-hook-up conversation in the history of the world.

_Oh, no._

Instead, she throws her shoulders back and runs her fingers through her hair and firmly reminds herself that she is hot and smart and devious and awesome and hilarious and that _Harry fucking Potter_ is going to have to do way better in the apology department if he ever wants to actually date her.

“Harry,” she says, lifting her chin and perching a totally respectable four feet away from him on the very far edge of the couch, “I really think we need to—”

“I’m so sorry,” he blurts out. “About last night. I was drunk. I took advantage of you. I had no idea you had a boyfriend, I swear, if I had I would never have—”

“What are you— _boyfriend_?”

He winces and gestures to the bruise on his jaw. “Big guy? Crew cut? Looked like he was about three push-ups away from being drafted to the NFL?”

She blanches. “You think—oh, my _God_ , Marcus is not my _boyfriend_.”

Harry looks chagrined and confused and also slightly doubtful which she can admit is a pretty fair emotional assessment of the situation. “Then why did he—”

“Marcus just likes to hit people,” she interrupts, wrinkling her nose. “It’s a character flaw. He’s working on it.”

He hesitates. “Oh.”

She sniffs. “Yeah.”

He gnaws on his lower lip and stares at the TV, watching impassively as Kendall Jenner attempts to learn how to wind surf. “Then I should probably apologize again,” he finally says, face twisting. “For…well. For being so awful to you.”

“No,” she corrects, “you should probably explain _why_ you were so awful. And then I can make an informed decision about whether or not to forgive you and, you know, you can get all up on this.”

A helpless half-smile plays around the corners of his mouth. “You’re not even being ironic when you say that, are you?”

She eyes him balefully. “Irony is for hipsters.”

He squeezes his eyes shut and huffs out a laugh. “Right. Hipsters. Like Malfoy.”

She almost grins at that. “Well?” she prods.

“What?”

She purses her lips. “You were going to explain why you’ve been such an asshole. And then, if your explanation was good enough, we were going to go upstairs and have sex.”

He chokes on literally nothing but air and she feels unaccountably smug. “Um. I didn’t—wait, really?” he manages to croak. “We are?”

“Duh.”

His tongue curls around his front teeth and his eyes are a little sharper when he turns to look at her. “Have you Googled me?” he asks abruptly. “Like—like I Googled you?”

Her brows knit together. “Duh,” she says again. “And you don’t have your own subsection on Reddit. I, like, triple-checked.”

The helpless half-smile makes another brief appearance as he pushes his glasses back up his nose. “So…you must have seen. Who I am.”

He gazes at her with fear and exasperation and anxiety and _worry,_ which—

“Oh, my God, wait, is this—is this all about the _Voldemort thing_? Seriously?”

“The Voldemort thing,” he repeats blandly. “That’s what you— _the Voldemort thing_.”

She shrugs. “I mean—yeah? Voldemort. He was, like, a bugfuck crazy wannabe terrorist from a million years ago. There’s a bunch of documentaries on the History channel about him—and you, too, actually, although they, like, totally blurred out your face—”

He opens his mouth, and then closes it, and then opens it again. “Okay,” he says, sounding uncertain, “but do you know, _specifically_ , what I—”

“Duh,” she says _again_. “He, like, tried to get your parents to drink the Kool-aid before you were even born and they totally refused because, _hello_ , not bugfuck crazy wannabe terrorists, and then, you know, there was the murder thing and the vendetta thing and you got put in, like, _witness protection_ for eleven years—”

“It wasn’t really witness protection—”

“—and I’m just speculating here but I bet that once they let you out into the real world again you were probably, like, _all about_ the _brooding_ and _martyring_ and the _self-sacrificing_ and if I had to guess, maybe you experimented with drugs for a little bit after that Voldemort sighting in North Dakota because you thought you were going to _die_ —”

“Er, no—although, I did eat a brownie during orientation week last year that made me pretty sleepy, and Hermione said that was because it was more than likely laced with—”

“—but honestly, _come on_ , everyone has their own shitto deal with, like, granted, okay, yours is a little more violent and, like, _horrifying_ than other people’s—”

“Wow, you’re really downplaying the part where I’m the _last remaining relative of a bloodthirsty serial killer—_ ”

“—it’s not like he can _come back from the dead_ to, like, collect your scalp for his scrapbook or whatever—”

“He never scalped anyone, what are you—”

“—so depriving yourself of shit you like or love or _want_ just to, like, really _commit_ to your man-pain, well, that seems pretty fucking stupid—”

“Did you even watch the documentaries—”

“—not to mention a little juvenile, seriously, like, I know you grew up worshipping at the altar of that detective guy with the weird name who’s on CNN all the time—”

“His name is Albus _Dumbledore_ —”

“—and you kind of rambled last night during your half-assed apology but I assumed your deep dark secret would be something, I don’t know, that wasn’t, like, _explicitly documented_ on Wikipedia—”

“My apology was not _half-assed_ , I was just _distracted_ by that dress you were wearing—”

“—maybe a crazy stalker ex-girlfriend or, like, a twenty-page arrest record, or possibly a six-month stint in celebrity rehab up in the mountains—”

“Yeah, I’m starting to feel like you’re disappointed I’m not on drugs—”

“—anyway, it’s stupid, you’re stupid, your determination to, like, _keep me at a distance_ was even stupider—but I’m bored with this conversation now, so—do you want a Hot Pocket?”

He looks so dazed and lost and nonplussed by her reaction to his total clusterfuck of a childhood that she wonders if she shouldn’t have been more tactful or sympathetic or compassionate while dredging it all up—but she also suspects that he’s used to being treated like he’s different or damaged or defective and she knows what that’s like, knows what that feels like, knows how much it stings, and she isn’t about to do that to him if she can help it.

“You—” he starts to say before stopping. He shakes his head. “A Hot Pocket?”

She hums. “Do you want one?”

He considers her thoughtfully for a long, long moment and his expression does something complicated and solemn and shifty that she doesn’t really care to analyze too closely. “I’m alright, I think,” he answers slowly. “But—thank you.”

She nods and then leans into his personal space. “I’m glad you said that,” she says in an exaggerated stage-whisper, “because I don’t actually have any Hot Pockets.”

She kisses him before he has a chance to respond.

The gelato melts _everywhere._

 

* * *

 

(9:00 pm) _guiliana rancic looks like a preying mantis_

(9:01 pm) _like_

(9:01 pm) _shes all spindly_

(9:01 pm) _but her shoes are killer_

(9:24 pm) **_did u happen to leave any condoms here_**

(9:24 pm) **_like_**

(9:24 pm) **_stashed in the couch cushions or the cup holder on the treadmill or whatever_**

(9:25 pm) _omg_

(9:25 pm) _SHUT UP_

(9:25 pm) _PICS OR IT DIDN’T HAPPEN_

(9:26 pm) **_????????_**

(9:26 pm) **_what is wrong with u_**

(9:27 pm) **_seriously_**

(9:27 pm) **_condom?_**

(9:28 pm) _we only use them for butt stuff_

(9:29 pm) **_LITERALLY NOT WHAT I ASKED OH MY GOD_**

(9:29 pm) _i mean_

(9:29 pm) _its kind of what u asked_

(9:30 pm) _arent u on birth control anyway_

(9:32 pm) **_well_**

(9:32 pm) **_yeah_**

(9:32 pm) **_but_**

(9:33 pm) **_…diseases?_**

(9:34 pm) _is that a question?_

(9:34 pm) **_i don’t know_**

(9:34 pm) **_i don’t know what im doing daph_**

(9:35 pm) _yes you do_

(9:35 pm) _i promise_

(9:36 pm) **_okay_**

(9:37 pm) _u should prob tell him ur a virgin before the main event though_

(9:37 pm) _and if he doesn’t go down on u first_

(9:37 pm) _hes a fucking douche_

(9:38 pm) _tell him i said that_

 

* * *

 

“So…” Harry says, dragging the word out. “Just to be clear—no boyfriend?”

She pauses. “No,” she replies, but then she smirks, pushes him back onto her bed, straddles his lap, and adds, “Not yet, at least.”

 

* * *

 

(10:33 pm) **_so_**

(10:33 pm) **_it finally happened?_**

(10:33 pm) **_im_**

(10:34 pm) **_you know_**

(10:34 pm) **_all_**

(10:34 pm) **_devirginized_**

(10:35 pm) _and?_

(10:36 pm) **_it was_**

(10:36 pm) **_good?_**

(10:37 pm) **_it didn’t hurt or anything_**

(10:37 pm) **_but it was kind of_**

(10:37 pm) **_idk_**

(10:37 pm) _anticlimactic?_

(10:37 pm) **_YES_**

(10:37 pm) **_THAT_**

(10:38 pm) **_is that how it was for you? you never really said_**

(10:39 pm) _um that’s because i lost it to anthony goldstein while his parents and little brother were eating dinner downstairs_

(10:39 pm) _and they thought we were studying for our bio midterm_

(10:40 pm) _and he put this weird marilyn manson song on super loud so they wouldnt hear his mattress squeak_

(10:40 pm) _why would i want to ever talk about that_

(10:40 pm) _ever_

(10:41 pm) _with anyone_

(10:42 pm) **_u always said it wasn’t that bad?_**

(10:42 pm) **_omg_**

(10:42 pm) **_wait_**

(10:42 pm) **_is that why youve been ignoring him for three years_**

(10:42 pm) _it was the most awkward four minutes of my life_

(10:43 pm) _im not even positive that he came_

(10:43 pm) _he kept stopping to ask if i was okay_

(10:44 pm) **_the heroin music probably didnt help with that_**

(10:45 pm) _lolllll_

(10:45 pm) _don’t change the subject_

(10:45 pm) _wheres captain asshole?_

(10:46 pm) _did he leave??_

(10:46 pm) **_no hes sleeping_**

(10:47 pm) _does he snore_

(10:47 pm) **_…kind of?_**

(10:47 pm) **_he like_**

(10:48 pm) **_snuffles_**

(10:48 pm) **_?_**

(10:49 pm) _like deviated septum snuffling_

(10:49 pm) _or_

(10:49 pm) _coming down with a cold snuffling_

(10:49 pm) _or_

(10:49 pm) _closet coke head snuffling_

(10:50 pm) _or_

(10:50 pm) **_jesus christ why do i tell u things_**

 

* * *

 

She wakes up to Harry’s hand on her hip and his tongue on her clit and she’s lucid just long enough to silently congratulate herself on her remarkable foresight in making that appointment for a wax the other day—

But then she forgets how to think at all because everything feels so fucking _good_ and _hot_ and _wet_ and he’s slurping at the entrance to her cunt like it’s _dessert_ and it should be totally obscene how he’s mouthing at her, how he’s using his fingers to spread her wider and dig his tongue in deeper—except it isn’t, it’s awesome, and the vague lingering ache that had settled into her gut after they’d finished earlier suddenly feels distant and _nonexistent_ as he hitches his shoulders—broad, broad shoulders, _God_ —under her thighs and yanks her even closer in one quick motion that makes her nipples tighten and her hips roll and she isn’t really sure how it happens but the next thing she knows his face is pretty much _buried in her cunt_ and he brings his hand around to push down on her stomach and her world ripples and spirals and narrows and then he drags his lips up up up in a filthy facsimile of a kiss and she feels his teeth graze her clit once and then twice and—

She breaks and she shatters and she soars and—

“—yes, yeah,” he’s saying, his voice low and raspy, “just like that, that’s it, baby, so good, fuck _—_ ”

She hardly notices him maneuver out from under her legs and slide his body up against her own; his chest is smooth and his cock is hard and the very sparse smattering of wiry dark hair on his lower abdomen is harsh and scratchy as it rubs over the delicate skin of her inner thighs.

“Are you, uh, too sore?” he asks, nosing the space between her breasts and propping himself up on his forearms.

Her lashes flutter and her brain stutters and she wastes a solid five seconds marveling at how exquisitely sensitive her cunt is—slick and soft and sloppy—as the rigid line of his cock bumps against her clit. She feels wrung out, kind of like she never wants to move again, but there’s a faint pulse of liquid lightning energy flickering up and down and around the notches of her spine, and she thinks, inanely, insanely, that she really actually wants to fucking chase it.

“I’m fine,” she says, breathless. “I want to do it again. But—not like this.”

He presses his cheek into the curve of her breast and glances up at her, hair mussed and glasses askew. “Oh, yeah?”

She grins sharply. “ _Oh_ , yeah,” she confirms, nudging him upright.

He smiles at her as she motions for him to lie down and it’s a little dopey and a lot adorable and it occurs to her for the first time that night that he’s _hers_ now, that it’s officially okay for her to kiss him and touch him and acknowledge the creepy-crawly pangs of warmth and tenderness and affection that she’s always been so famous for repressing.

“I _like_ you,” she murmurs, surprising herself.

He quirks an eyebrow and tugs her down on top of him. “I’d hope so,” he replies, arranging her legs on either side of his hips. “Otherwise this might get awkward later.”

His cock slips and slides against her cunt and she can’t quite hold back her short, shaky, totally involuntary moan. “Right? I could—could have just been using you for your—your body,” she manages to retort.

He cups her breasts and thumbs at her nipples and she tips her head back when he starts to pinch and twist and _pull_ because _fuck_ —

“Could have kicked me out in the morning,” he says, clutching the base of his cock and lining up with the entrance to her cunt. “Without _breakfast,_ even.”

She chokes out a desperate sounding laugh. “I—I expect pancakes,” she informs him haughtily. He thrusts up. She whimpers. “With chocolate—chocolate—chocolate chips _oh fuck Harry—_ ”

She grinds down and she sits up straight and she flattens her hands against his chest for leverage and—

“Oh, my God, this feels _so much better_ ,” she groans, rocking backwards and then forwards and then registering her toes curling into her sheets and her muscles locking and throbbing and quivering and the thick flared spongy head of his cock brushing against something really fucking spectacular inside of her and she freezes and she tenses and she gasps—

“Right there?” he asks, moving his hands from her waist to her ass and grasping, squeezing, kneading. “Yeah? Baby?”

“ _Yeah_ ,” she says, biting her lip, “yeah, yeah, there, fuck, _Harry—_ ”

He drives his hips up with enough force that she can hear the dull smack-slap-thud of his skin hitting hers and the angle is perfect and the friction against her clit is perfect and the length and shape and girth of his cock is especially fucking perfect because Jesus _fuck_ she can feel all of him, all of _it_ , and her vision is splitting and splintering and her breathing is _ragged_ , shit, and he keeps hitting that spot that she’d always been half-convinced was imaginary and she’s seeing starbursts and fireworks and fucking _supernovas_ and his lips are swollen and red from eating her out and his fingertips are digging into the cleft of her ass and teasing teasing _teasing_ and that’s it that’s that’s _it_ —

 

* * *

 

(03:15 am) **_so_**

(03:15 am) **_quick recap_**

(03:16 am) _omg_

(03:16 am) _pans_

(03:17 am) _i swear to god_

(03:17 am) _this better be important_

(03:17 am) _nakd blaise + naked theo + almost naked daphne_

(03:18 am) _if i wasn’t so worried u were on the verge of a nervous breakdown this convo wouldnt evn be happening okay just let that sink in_

(03:18 am) **_aaahahahaha_**

(03:18 am) **_after my mom died u literally changed my dads ringtone to that “im in love w/ a stripper” song and whenever he called youd elbow me in the side and wiggle your eyebrows_ **

(03:19 am) **_like_**

(03:20 am) **_u adore my nervous breakdowns_**

(03:20 am) **_they keep you spry_**

(03:22 am) _IT MADE YOU LAUGH_

(03:22 am) **_it did_**

(03:23 am) **_< 3_**

(03:28 am) **_okay_**

(03:28 am) **_remember my staff sergeant pucey dream_**

(03:28 am) _which one u had like twelve_

(03:29 am) **_RUDE_**

(03:29 am) _but true_

(03:30 am) **_the one that made my sex bucket list_**

(03:30 am) **_with the tongue thing_**

(03:31 am) **_that we thought was only a thing in gay porn but then turned to totally be a thing in ALL porn_**

(03:31 am) _ooooooh_

(03:31 am) _yeah_

(03:32 am) _theo’s a fan_

(03:32 am) **_ew_**

(03:33 am) _u asked_

(03:33 am) **_????_**

(03:33 am) **_no_**

(03:33 am) **_i really didn’t_**

(03:34 am) **_god ur ruining this story_**

(03:34 am) **_ur ruining it so hard_**

(03:39 am) _well its boring_

(03:39 am) _like_

(03:40 am) _obv u and captain asshole did the tongue thing_

(03:41 am) _ and u want to tell me about how awesome it was but how ur still a little grossed out because hello putting ur mouth THERE is super fucking gross and while i totally sympathize because ew yeah pro tip never google enemas without turning on safe search  _

(03:42 am) _i would really like to have an orgasm now_

(03:43 am) _and watching your super hot boyfriends give each other blowjobs and not joining them is surprisingly frustrating pans_

(03:43 am) _SURPRISINGLY_

(03:43 am) _FRUSTRATING_

(03:44 am) **_u really need to stop calling harry captain asshole_**

(03:49 am) _you started it_

(03:52 am) **_…_**

(03:52 am) **_yeah i did_**

(03:59 am) **_hey_**

(03:59 am) **_have u talked to draco_**

(04:00 am) _no_

(04:01 am) _he left last night with the librarian and his phones been off all day_

(04:02 am) _she either broke his heart and hes brooding in his dads tap room or theyre holed up somewhere fucking_

(04:02 am) _which_

(04:02 am) _I WANT TO BE DOING RIGHT NOW FYI_

(04:03 am) **_huh_**

(04:03 am) **_wonder what happened_**

(04:44 am) **_btw_**

(04:44 am) **_youre my sister in all the ways that matter too_**

(04:44 am) **_in case you were wondering_**

(04:44 am) **_< 3_**

(07:12 am) _< 3_

 

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> [come join me in hell](http://www.provocative-envy.tumblr.com)


End file.
